Therapy Session
by aeskis
Summary: After some minutes, she pulled back to study him closely. "Will's not … all here." Abigail said, more to confirm than to ask. Hannibal looked at her intently. "He will not remember this experience when he wakes. Not consciously, at least. But somewhere in the depths of his mind, he will know." - This is so, so wrong. And unethical. I have no knowledge of anything. Non-Con.


Abigail needed to talk to someone. She knew that person couldn't be Alana Bloom, who would think she knew the answers, but wouldn't. The natural recourse was Dr. Lecter, who had so generously allowed her to live with him in his elegant home. Dr. Lecter would understand. He understood everything.

She had lost everything the moment her Dad had received the mysterious phone call. Her parents, her world, friends, stability, nearly her life. Abigail had no one. She was helpless, and her awareness of the fact was maddening, crawling under her skin.

Well, she did have two people who genuinely cared about her. Dr. Lecter, and Will Graham. Doubtless Will took responsibility for his role in what had happened, prompting fatherly instincts to take hold, but somehow, she felt safe and comfortable with him. He would take care of her, spoil her, like any affectionate father.

But she didn't think of Will as a father. Her Dad had been a steady and fond presence, but his love for her had been soured with the reality of him being a cannibalistic murderer who killed girls in her image. Instead, Will's awkward, often fumbling attempts to please her amused her a little, as though he were a boy trying to woo her.

There was something … attractive about Will. His twitchy nervousness, and at times abrasive attitude toward others, made his kindness to her all the more touching. At night, as she lay in bed in one of Hannibal's immaculate guest rooms, she would imagine that he did more than put his arms around her in a gesture of clumsy comfort. The scenarios were hotter than she'd admit, even to herself.

Dr. Lecter was something else entirely; he was her god. She would do anything he desired.

Abigail started to knock on the door of Hannibal's study, but his calm voice preempted her. "Come in." She obeyed, but stopped short before entering, frozen into place by the scene before her.

Hannibal was angled backward on his armchair and holding Will, whose oversized jacket was pushed over his shoulders, shirt was rucked up to his armpits and jeans open to his knees. Will's eyes were half-lidded, his movements languid as Hannibal placed his hands over Will's to touch him with sure, steady strokes. Will's head lolled heavily against Hannibal's shoulder, his lips parted and his breath quickening.

Other than that, the room was a disturbingly silent tableau. Abigail stared.

"You can touch him," Hannibal said, watching her cheeks grow scarlet.

Cautiously, Abigail came forward and took Will's face in her hands, marveling at how remarkably fine his features were under the scruffy beard. She melted a kiss onto his red mouth, and then, tentatively, slipped a tongue into his mouth. Will made a soft sound and, dreamily, responded. His submissive acceptance, Abigail found, was unexpectedly arousing, and she could feel herself getting wet.

After some minutes, she pulled back to study him closely. Her heart hurt her a bit when Will, expression still vague, reached over to cup her chin tenderly and deepen the kiss. "Will's not … all here." Abigail said, more to confirm than to ask.

Hannibal looked at her intently. "He will not remember this experience when he wakes. Not consciously, at least. But somewhere in the depths of his mind, he will know."

"And that's what you want," Abigail said, considering.

"Yes," Hannibal smiled his enigmatic smile. "He will know who owns him, but not how, or why."

At that point, as though he'd heard and comprehended the meaning of the words, Will stirred uneasily. His eyelids fluttered wildly as though he were trying to wake up from a nightmare.

"Will he be okay?" Abigail wanted to know, some feeling of guilt coiling in her gut and dampening her arousal.

"He needs this, Abigail," Hannibal told her quietly. "More than anything. Let us break him, slowly, before he shatters all at once."

Will moaned incoherently as Hannibal's left hand moved faster, and his right rubbed at Will's nipples. Nodding, Abigail leaned forward and stroked his taut belly and heaving sides, brushing soothing kisses over his closed eyes and knitted brows.

When Will came, body strung tight and arched against Hannibal, inadvertently pressing himself into her hands, Abigail gazed at him He was breathtaking, in a way that other boys who she'd had sex with simply weren't. Unconsciously, she lowered her head to bite at Will's neck, but Hannibal stopped her.

"Next time, you can ride him," Hannibal told her. Abigail bit her lip at the image, and nodded again. "But careful not to leave marks, for now."

With clinical precision, Hannibal wiped the effects of Will's climax from his chest and stomach, and washed his hands. Meanwhile, without being instructed, Abigail held Will close as she rearranged his clothes to their usual loose configuration.

Hannibal gently pried her off Will, and lifted his slumped form into his own arms. He walked over to the chair in which the latter had been sitting when their conversation had begun, and deposited the other man carefully into a sitting position.

As Abigail watched in fascination, Hannibal raised a hand in front of Will's slack face, and snapped his fingers.


End file.
